Chapter VIII: Peter the Pumpkin Eater

Everyone in Boron knows Peter.

And every autumn, everyone knows exactly where to find him.

The pumpkin pie eating contest.

Peter had entered the contest for as long as The Carney had been bringing the carnival to Boron. He didn't care much for the games, rarely wandered through the Big Top, and couldn't remember the last time he'd ridden the Ferris wheel. For Peter, the carnival meant one thing.

Pumpkin pie.

Dozens of them would line the long wooden tables each year. Flaky golden crusts overflowing with roasted pumpkin, brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cream. The smell alone was enough to draw half the town toward the contest tent.

Peter loved every bite.

Unfortunately, loving pumpkin pie and being able to eat more of it than anyone else were two very different things.

Every year Peter entered.

And every year Peter lost.

Sometimes by a single slice. Once by half a pie.

Last autumn, he had come closer than ever. Peter forced down eleven pies before collapsing backward from the table, clutching his stomach while the crowd erupted in laughter.

The winner finished twelve.

Peter had thought about that twelfth pie for an entire year.

This time would be different.

A few nights before the contest, Peter wandered beyond the brightest parts of the midway. Past the games. Past the food stalls. Past the final rows of glowing lanterns.

That's where he found The Djinn.

His strange little tent sat alone at the edge of the carnival, illuminated by flickering amber lamps. Ancient brass vessels lined weathered wooden shelves. Strange coins, forgotten relics, and objects Peter couldn't identify filled glass cabinets. Thin trails of fragrant smoke curled toward the canvas ceiling.

Peter had heard the stories.

Everyone in Boron had.

The Djinn could give you things.

Not ordinary things.

Desires.

Fortune.

Abilities.

Perhaps even wishes.

But wishes were peculiar things.

They depended greatly upon the words used to make them.

Peter stepped inside anyway.

"I want to win the pumpkin pie contest."

The Djinn studied him silently.

Then he smiled.

"Then eat more."

Peter frowned.

"I can't."

"Why?"

"I get full."

The Djinn's smile widened.

Such a simple problem.

He reached toward one of the shelves and removed a tiny glass bottle filled with something thick and golden. It moved slowly inside the glass, almost like honey.

He placed it before Peter.

"Drink this before the contest."

Peter picked it up.

"What does it do?"

"You will never feel full."

Peter's eyes widened.

"Never?"

"Never."

That was all Peter needed to hear.

He grabbed the bottle and headed toward the exit.

The Djinn didn't stop him.

He didn't warn him.

He didn't need to.

Peter never asked how long the gift would last.

He never asked whether it could be undone.

And most importantly...

He never asked what it would cost.

Contest day arrived beneath a brilliant autumn sky.

The tables were prepared. The pies were lined up. The people of Boron gathered around while The Carney announced the competitors.

Peter took his familiar seat.

Before anyone noticed, he swallowed the contents of the little bottle.

Warmth spread through his stomach.

Then nothing.

No pressure.

No discomfort.

No hunger.

Just...

emptiness.

The bell rang.

Peter began eating.

One pie disappeared.

Then another.

Five.

Eight.

Eleven.

The crowd began chanting his name.

Peter reached twelve.

Then thirteen.

Fourteen.

The previous champion stopped eating and stared.

Peter continued.

Fifteen.

Sixteen.

Seventeen.

The crowd roared.

For the first time in his life, Peter Pumpkin Eater had won.

But Peter didn't stand.

There was still pie on the table.

So he kept eating.

The laughter slowly became confusion.

Eighteen.

Nineteen.

Twenty.

Someone slapped him on the back and told him he'd already won.

Peter barely heard them.

Something had changed.

He wasn't full.

But he wasn't satisfied either.

Twenty-one.

Twenty-two.

The wonderful pumpkin flavor he'd waited all year to taste barely registered anymore.

The cheers became distant.

Peter looked down at the empty tins scattered around him.

For the first time, he understood the difference between being hungry...

and being empty.

There were no more pies.

Peter slowly raised his head.

Across the midway, beneath the flickering amber light of his tent, The Djinn watched.

Peter placed one hand against his stomach.

Nothing.

No fullness.

No satisfaction.

Not even discomfort.

Just an endless hollow feeling where there should have been something.

Anything.

The Djinn had kept his promise.

Peter would never feel full again.

He'd gotten exactly what he'd asked for.

And as Peter stared toward the countless food stalls stretching across the midway, another thought finally occurred to him.

He should have asked what happened...

when the pies ran out.